


Unbalanced

by darlingred1



Series: Red [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: BDSM, Cock & Ball Torture, Dom/sub, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Femdom, Naked Male Clothed Female, Painplay, Slapping, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-23 21:11:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14340999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlingred1/pseuds/darlingred1
Summary: Natasha was under no illusion that he’d told her everything. Even if he hadn’t so obviously skirted the issue of his own involvement, she wasn’t so affected by the sex that she’d forgotten Loki was never to be trusted completely.She trusted him enough, though, that she didn’t doubt the gist of what he’d said. War was coming, and Earth was in trouble.





	Unbalanced

She sent Loki to shower and then drove to Starbucks. She needed the space, needed the air to think about everything Loki had said—and everything he hadn’t.

A Mad Titan courting Death, with Earth in his crosshairs, only a few stones away from unlimited power. Perhaps less, now, since by Loki’s own admission his information was old and incomplete.

And Natasha was under no illusion that he’d told her everything. Even if he hadn’t so obviously skirted the issue of his own involvement, she wasn’t so affected by the sex that she’d forgotten Loki was never to be trusted completely.

She trusted him enough, though, that she didn’t doubt the gist of what he’d said. War was coming, and Earth was in trouble. She’d keep her doubts and suspicions to herself, at least a while longer.

At Starbucks, she ordered a hot chocolate for Loki, a latte for herself, and then, after a moment of consideration, a breakfast sandwich and a pastry. They needed to eat, and the food at the condo required cooking, which she didn’t feel up to.

On the drive back, she thought about where to go from here. She needed to pass Loki’s intel off to someone, but there was no one to take it. The Avengers, SHIELD…they were all pieces of a broken sword, scattered and useless until they were gathered again and reforged.

She didn’t have those kinds of skills.

The condo was quiet when she returned, but the bathroom door was still shut, light peeking from underneath it. She went to the kitchen and set the food and drinks on the table.

Loki appeared as she was draping her coat over one of the chairs. His hair was damp, and he was dressed in his black suit. He hovered awkwardly in the doorway, watching her without speaking, looking wary and vulnerable.

Genuine, she thought, although it could have easily been manipulation. Still, it was better to behave as if it was the former. To treat him kindly, as she might treat any sub who had dropped unexpectedly and spilled all his emotions and secrets after an intense scene.

 _Or_ , some part of Natasha’s mind whispered, _like a sub who may or may not have forced himself to go along with your whims because he’d decided his survival depended on your trust._

The thought didn’t sit well with her, and no amount of reminding herself that he’d deliberately pushed her to it made that little sliver of disquiet stop twisting in her gut.

“You didn’t have to do all this, you know,” she found herself saying, although she regretted it immediately. They had bigger issues to worry about now.

“Do what?” he asked archly. “Clean myself in your box of a ‘shower’? I’m fairly certain I did that on your orders.”

She blinked. “Our definitions of ‘orders’ are very different. But no, that’s not what I meant. Here.” She lifted one of the drinks and offered it to him. “I got you hot chocolate.”

He narrowed his eyes at the cup and didn’t so much as step into the kitchen to accept it.

She snorted. “What, you think I’m going to poison you? That’s not my style. And if I wanted you dead, I’ve had more than enough opportunities by now. Take it.” She wiggled the cup, and the warm contents sloshed inside. “I guarantee this hot chocolate is a hell of a lot better than the powdered crap I made for you before.”

Still peering suspiciously, Loki came closer and took it from her. He seemed puzzled at first by the lid but finally took a small sip. He liked it, if his much larger second and third sips were any indication, although his expression remained impassive.

Natasha sat at the table and gestured at the two paper bags. “I got food too. You can pick. There’s a pastry, some kind of iced pound cake, or a breakfast sandwich, egg and—”

“Pastry,” he said, and dove into the bag she scooted toward him with such fervor that she had to duck her head to hide her not-quite smile.

She dug into the sandwich, which was greasy but savory, and after a pause, Loki finally pulled out the chair across from her and sat. He wasn’t wincing or moving gingerly, she noticed, not at all like someone who had been bled and then fucked up the ass last night.

 _Bigger issues_ , she reminded herself, and then, on the heels of that thought: _You’re compromised._

Was she? Was the fact that she was putting her trust in Loki, or that she had worried even slightly about his mental wellbeing, a sign of that?

Her uncertainty bothered her more than anything.

“Does your brother know?” she asked.

“My _brother_ ”—he bared his teeth, telling her exactly what he thought of that word—“is the new king of an endangered people, marooned in a realm that has not been even half as welcoming as he hoped. He has more than enough to occupy him already.”

“Sure. But all the work that he’s done to ensure your people’s survival”—she couldn’t miss his flinch, but didn’t stop to examine it—“will mean nothing if Thanos destroys us all. You know that, right?”

Loki flinched again, even more conspicuously, and clutched his hot chocolate in both hands like he thought she might snatch it away. She shook her head and finished her sandwich silently, watching him. He kept his gaze on his cup, his jaw clenched tight.

Finally, he said, “I didn’t have to do what?”

It took Natasha a moment to understand, and she wished even more that she’d never said it, never even thought of their interactions that way. She wondered if she was dropping a bit herself after their scene last night, questioning herself, fixating on things she normally wouldn’t have even considered.

She shrugged, affecting nonchalance. “Play the long game to get me to listen to you.”

He cocked his head and tapped one index finger almost angrily on the rim of his cup. “Ah. I admit I wondered how you and Thor could possibly get along, but now I see. Evidently, you share a tendency to oversimplify to a fault.”

She felt a surge of annoyance but tamped it down. _You deserved that_ , she thought. _You’re clearly off your game today, and it doesn’t matter why—you need to get it together._

She drank her coffee while Loki shoved the last bite of pastry into his mouth.

“As much as it pains me to say,” he said when he’d swallowed, “we should contact Stark.”

Anger sparked again, and this time she let it burn. “Are you lying to me?” Her tone was purposely vicious, and she felt a little thrill of satisfaction when he jerked back in his chair, looking shocked.

“About what?”

“Any of this. Are you trying to fuck with us?”

She was pretty sure he wasn’t—not so blatantly, anyway—but the bare bewilderment on his face, followed swiftly by fury, confirmed it.

“What would I possibly gain from that?” he spat. “Rest assured that I have no misconceptions about the precariousness of my situation. My survival depends entirely on—”

“Me.” Natasha planted her palms on the table and leaned forward, staring right into his eyes, so green and almost glittering in the sunlight filtering through the kitchen windows. “You came to me, so it depends on _me_. And I say Stark isn’t who we start with.”

Not only had she parted with him on, well, not the best terms, but Tony wasn’t exactly the most reasonable and levelheaded of the Avengers. He wouldn’t be able to look past Loki’s considerable list of crimes—or hers—to listen.

“Look,” she said. “We knew about the Infinity Stones. We guessed that someone had a greater purpose in mind for them. All you’ve given us is confirmation and a name.”

Loki’s expression—mouth thin and tight with indignation—didn’t change, but his shoulders sagged slightly.

“Which isn’t nothing,” Natasha added, “although you’ve wasted weeks by waiting.”

“I’ve wasted _nothing_.” He snarled, and when she only gazed at him, daring him to go on, he let out a bark of laughter. “You have such faith in your companions. You’re so sure of your own invincibility.”

One corner of her mouth twitched, and she let it curve into a sharp smile. “What did you tell me this morning? You underestimated the Avengers. Don’t underestimate us again now. You may be ready to roll over and die, but we’re sure as hell not.”

He went silent and stared at her for such a long, long moment, eyes narrowed, that her hackles went up. Then, finally, he grabbed his Starbucks cup with both hands again and tugged it close. “So?” he asked. “What is your plan, then?”

 _Good question._ She needed a team, and team building wasn’t her strong suit. It would be easy to bring in Thor, of course. He still had some amount of trust in Loki, if bringing him to Earth was any indication. But even before him…

Steve Rogers wasn’t the leader of anything any longer, but he could motivate and pull a team together like no one Natasha had ever met. More importantly, she trusted him. Trusted him not just to treat Loki and his intel fairly, but to reassure her that she wasn’t compromised in this—that Loki hadn’t warped her in ways she just hadn’t seen yet.

“Steve,” she told Loki. “We go to Steve.”

 

* * *

 

The mission that had brought her to Arizona was done, so there was no reason to linger. As soon as she’d finished her latte, she got to work, leaving Loki alone in the kitchen while she cleaned up the bedroom. She dealt with her scattered clothing from last night, the dildo and gloves, the sharps container, and the mess of discarded needle caps and packaging.

At some point, she sensed Loki in the doorway, watching her silently, but she paid him only half a mind.

The duvet had been stained with tiny droplets and a couple smears of his blood. She bent to examine them more closely, idly scraping at the dried red with one fingernail to see how deeply set in it was, and suddenly it was gone. The duvet was as gray and unmarked as it had been when she’d got here, and she thought it even looked less wrinkled too.

She turned. Loki was leaning one shoulder against the doorframe, still staring at her, and there was a look in his eyes that she didn’t quite trust. It was dark but placid, the exact opposite of the wild brightness that had unsettled her a few times before. She took a breath to speak, but he beat her to it.

“I suppose that you’ll want me there while you meet with the Captain.”

Natasha arched an eyebrow at him before she started replacing her gathered first aid supplies into their kit. “After everything you told me, I’m not exactly feeling inclined to let you too far out of my sight.”

“Ah, of course.” His voice took on a flirtatious lilt. “No doubt you’ll reap the benefits of my presence in more ways than one.”

She rolled her eyes, even as part of her remembered the sight of the needles in his skin, the sounds he’d made when she’d fucked him.

When her things were packed away, she faced him again. “It’s probably in our best interests,” she said slowly, carefully, “if we don’t do… _this_ again.” She gestured at the room, the bed.

Loki laughed, although there was nothing happy in the sound. It reminded Natasha vaguely of a feral cat defending its territory. “Why?” he asked, pushing himself away from the doorframe. “Because I’m fragile?”

He stepped toward her, and she could see the moment that the anger fully took hold. When his head cocked, there was something almost reptilian in the motion, and his mocking half smile became little more than an ugly upward slash of his lips.

“Because you’ve taken advantage of me?” His voice lowered with every word until he was hissing. “Coerced me in my so very vulnerable state?”

“Loki,” she said, and he lunged at her.

It was more a scuffle than a fight. He didn’t seem to be putting any real effort into it, so neither did Natasha. Her moves were mostly automatic, blocking and countering on instinct while her mind worked.

He wasn’t wrong, she realized—and there was the compromise. Sometime between last night and this morning, despite everything she knew, he’d become less of a threat in her mind. Not a lot, but just enough to be a mistake. The backs of her thighs brushed against the bed, and she realized she’d been giving ground without even noticing.

She’d let him get away with _omitting things_ , for god’s sake.

She kneed him, right in the balls, and he crumbled like a column of bricks. She sank to her haunches beside him as he rolled flat on his back, laughing, breathless and bitter.

She leaned over him, caught his eye, and asked, “What did you do with the Tesseract?”

That he went instantly silent said she’d shocked him, and that he didn’t respond, only stared at her like a man facing the gallows, said her suspicion had been right.

She smiled grimly. “That’s what I thought. What is it, Loki? The ace up your sleeve? Your bargaining chip?”

His jaw ground from one side to the other. “I… I didn’t know what it was when I first retrieved it. It was only after—”

“I don’t care what you did or didn’t know back then. Or even what you’re doing with it now, for that matter.”

When he tried to sit, Natasha planted a palm on his sternum and forced him back down. Then, on an impulse, she swung one leg over his waist and straddled him. Maybe the position would tease something in his subconsciousness, help him slip into submission. Perhaps it worked, because he didn’t fight her, only peered up at her, his lips small and tight.

“You’re playing us,” she said. “That’s what I care about. Even now, you’re withholding information from me. Playing us like you played us before, for your own gain, and don’t think—for a second—that I don’t see it.”

His nostrils flared, and he glanced down at her hand against his tie. She put more weight on it, spread her fingers, and he looked up at her again.

“But,” she added, more kindly, “you’re playing us for your own survival, which is…something I can understand.”

“You keep saying ‘us,’” Loki said. She could feel his voice rumbling in his chest. “Your comrades aren’t here.”

One corner of her lips turned up, and she could have chuckled but didn’t. “That’s because I’m on a team. You don’t know what that’s like, but you’ll learn soon enough.”

This time when he tried to sit, he put strength and speed behind the action and managed to jab her elbow, catching her off guard. In the split second it took for her to straighten her arm again, putting pressure on his sternum, he’d hauled himself upward and kissed her.

She registered the firmness of his lips against hers, the scent of her own shampoo on his hair, and then she jerked backward and smacked him across the face. The sound of her palm striking his cheek seemed to echo longer than it truly did, and Loki fell back with a laugh as genuine as any she’d ever heard from him.

“Yesss.” There was a smugness, maybe even a hint of relief, in his grin. “Much better.”

 _You walked right into that_ , Natasha told herself. Yet another reminder to never forget who she was dealing with. And with that thought, she leaned forward, lowered her head, and kissed him, but made it so much sweeter than his. Not a simple lingering peck, but a brushing of their lips so soft and tender that he gasped into her mouth and, tentatively, touched his tongue against hers.

When she pulled away, he tried to follow her, looking dazed, not even seeming to realize that she’d drawn her hand back until she landed another ringing _slap_ to his already-pink cheek. And that just seemed to wind him up more, making him whimper and squirm under her like he just couldn’t keep his pleasure inside.

“Okay,” she murmured. “Okay, I get it.” She slapped his other cheek so hard that his head swung to one side and he whimpered louder, his eyes squeezing shut.

 _He needs this_ , she thought, _and he’s yours. Isn’t that what you learned last night?_

Yes, it was. And it was far, far too late to pretend she didn’t enjoy it just as much. As long as she remembered herself, and kept him right where she could see him along with all of his half-truths and subtle manipulations.

“What?” he asked. His eyes were open again, and he was watching her warily.

Natasha shrugged and flexed her fingers. Her palm stung slightly, pleasantly, from the slaps. “Just thinking. About my next play.”

“What kind of play might that be?”

She leaned close, close enough that she could kiss him again, and she could see that he expected it. His chin tipped up and he licked his lips, but she stopped a breath away and showed her teeth in a smile.

“The kind where I cut you open at your seams and peel back your masks. The kind where I get to see everything that you try so hard to pretend doesn’t exist.” She sat back, took in his wide-eyed and red-cheeked expression, and smiled wider. “And the kind where you beg me to do it.”

“I thought it wasn’t in our _best interests_.”

“I reconsidered.” She climbed off his torso and squatted next to him. “Realized what you probably need most is someone to keep you in line.”

He narrowed his eyes and seemed to be considering how much offense to take. She didn’t give him time to decide.

“Take these off.” She gestured toward his suit, and a second later, all his clothes were gone. “Good. Very good.”

His eyelids fluttered at that, but he lay still and let her do what she pleased. She ran one hand along his chest, down his rib cage, and over his hip. His skin was smooth and soft, all of the scars she’d seen last night hidden again. His cock grew harder the longer she touched him, although she was just stroking lazily, teasingly. She gripped his thigh and dug her nails into the flesh there, which made him hiss and spread his legs wider.

Natasha toyed with the thought of slapping his testicles or his cock. Especially since she’d kneed him not twenty minutes ago, he’d be extra sensitive, probably extra loud as well. But she dismissed the idea, distracted by his thigh quivering suddenly under her fingers. She glanced up and found him staring at the ceiling, his chest heaving.

“Give me your hand,” she told him, and he complied immediately, thrusting one arm toward her. “Huh. You’re easy today.”

Loki tilted his head and looked at her then. His eyes were bright, which gave her pause. For the first time, she wondered if he hadn’t fully recovered from his drop. If maybe whatever she had broken open in his head last night hadn’t mended itself yet, and he was still at least a little cracked. Shaky. Raw.

That was fine. She’d handled situations like that before. She would be gentle.

Well, within reason.

She clasped his wrist in one hand and licked his palm. His whole body twitched at the swipe of her tongue against his skin, and he let out a soft “uhn” that did things to Natasha she never would have thought Loki could do.

She licked until his hand was wet and slick, and then she moved it to his dick and curled his fingers around the shaft. It took a bit of finessing to get his grip and position exactly as she wanted, and he kept making that quiet, half-whining “uhn” that turned her on so much it almost hurt.

“That’s it,” she told him, drawing back when she was satisfied. “Keep your hand just like that. Don’t move it. No stroking, no squeezing—nothing. Do you understand?”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, but he didn’t answer.

“Loki?” She stretched until she was looking down into his face. He blinked and seemed…hazy. Subspace-y, she thought, although it seemed too sudden. _Be gentle_ , she reminded herself. “We can stop, you know. Do you want to stop?” she offered, despite being almost certain that he didn’t.

That got her a quick response. He actually gnashed his teeth at her and grabbed her upper arm with his free hand as though he meant to tear it from her socket. “Don’t you _dare_.”

She yanked away with a warning look. “Fine. But the point still stands. We can stop at any time.”

He huffed, rolling his eyes. “Spare me your pointless reassurances and get on with it.”

Natasha reached long and slapped his inner thigh, high enough that some of the sting would radiate in his groin. Loki yelped and jolted, his body contorting as he tried to bring his knees together and turn away from her. She clamped her hand on his thigh, right over the rapidly reddening spot, and held him in place.

“Legs apart,” she said, her tone as harsh and unyielding as a grave. “And keep that hand where it is.”

It was still wrapped obediently around his cock, she noticed with a spark of satisfaction, but he’d moved it slightly. It was farther down the shaft, his fingers curled more loosely. She allowed herself a smirk—he’d regret that soon enough—and smacked his leg again, lower but harder. He still yelped and jolted, but this time he didn’t try to contort.

“Good,” she said sweetly, and he shuddered, moaned, and—the slut—inched his thighs just a little wider.

She hit him again, and again, and saw the moment when he finally understood. Every involuntary twitch and jerk was driving his dick, just barely, through the ring of his fingers. On her next strike, he bucked his hips weakly and, when she said nothing to discourage it, did it again with more purpose.

Soon he was fucking his fist each time she brought her hand down, but of course it wasn’t enough. It might’ve been, if he’d stayed exactly as she’d positioned him, but now his grip was too loose, too far from the sensitive tip. And she felt not just pleasure but pride when he made no move to try to adjust it, to give himself what his body was surely screaming for, even as his arm began to shake and his face twisted with frustration and each moan sounded more agonized than the last.

When his thigh was nearly purpling from her blows, she lifted herself higher on one elbow so she could stretch and reach his opposite thigh. Whether it was the different angle affecting the power in her swing or just the shock of pain on his neglected leg, Loki convulsed with a wail and turned his head to one side, covering his face with his free hand.

Natasha grabbed his wrist and wrenched it away, pinning it near his ear, which made him snarl and snap at her like a wild dog.

When she only laughed at him, he spat, “Sadist.”

“Masochist,” she said breezily, although he wasn’t wrong. She was soaking through her panties, vividly aware of the ache in her clit every time she squeezed her thighs together—which she’d been doing, unconsciously, for a while now, she realized. “Are you telling me you’re not enjoying yourself right now?”

She couldn’t quite stretch to get a solid strike on either of his thighs anymore without sacrificing her hold on Loki’s wrist, so she slapped his hip instead. He bucked harder that time, and his cry sounded almost blissful, despite the torment in his expression.

He tried, feebly, to snatch back his hand. “I can’t—”

She held firm. “Poor thing. Do you need help?” She cast a glance to his cock. It was dark red and pulsing between his fingers, precome dribbling down his knuckles and onto his stomach. “If you ask really nicely, I might be willing to give you a hand.”

He responded by arching his neck and biting her forearm. Not hard, though. She might almost have said the bite was playful if she didn’t sense the sheer animosity behind it.

Putting her weight on his wrist to keep herself stable, she reached for his balls and grabbed and twisted. He howled, eyes going wide, his limbs twitching violently but not shifting from their positions.

“Try again,” Natasha said.

He gulped air, gazing into her face—not, she thought with a shiver, unlike a man staring up at a god—as he croaked, “Help me.”

“Not good enough.” She squeezed harder and grinned when he kicked weakly, probably involuntarily, at nothing in particular.

His cheeks were red. Not as much as his left thigh or his cock, but she thought the flush was attractive just the same. “N-Natasha.”

She twisted a little more, and his eyes grew just wet enough to shine. “You’re cleverer than this. You know what I want to hear, Loki.”

He gasped. “Please!”

She let go, and he gasped again, his whole body heaving with his inhale. A tremor went through his limbs, although whether it was from emotion or just the exertion of trying to stay still, she wasn’t sure.

“Okay,” she crooned, putting less pressure on his wrist so she could settle back onto her side and reach his thigh. The already-bruised one, but that was fine. She could ignore aesthetics in favor of practicality. “You can stroke, make yourself come.”

She got in one more slap before he was tensing and coming, arching his neck again and wailing into her forearm. She could feel his teeth and half expected him to bite down, but he didn’t, only dampened the skin with his breath and vibrated her arm all the way to the elbow with his cries.

When he’d subsided, she took both hands back and wasted no time shoving one under the waistband of her jeans and into her panties. She was so wet that even just touching her outer labia, squeezing them inward to hug her clit more tightly, made a soft _squish_.

Loki sobbed, sounding pained, and tried to raise his upper body to watch, but she caught his jaw in her free hand and held him down, keeping his head tipped up. After one growl and a futile jerk of his chin, he stopped struggling and lay still, staring into Natasha’s face as she touched herself, pressed her fingers against her clit and rubbed until a moan rose in her throat.

She closed her eyes, losing herself in the sensation as pleasure grew and sparked, and her cunt throbbed as she came.

When she opened her eyes again after the aftershocks had passed, she realized she’d let her grip on Loki’s chin go lax. Even so, he hadn’t lowered it. He was still watching her face, fixating briefly on her lips as she licked them before he met and held her gaze. He looked puzzled, like he was spinning a question around and around in his mind.

She had enough in her own head to deal with, so she drew back, pulling her hand out of her jeans, and glanced away. As she moved, sitting up, the vague physical discomfort that she’d confined to the back of her mind flared. She needed to get off the floor. If she felt stiff and raw from being on the thin, rough carpet for so long, she couldn’t imagine how Loki’s nude body felt.

She almost jumped when something brushed her hair, but it was just Loki, taking a lock between his thumb and forefinger and holding it up as if it were something foreign he’d found stuck to the bottom of his shoe.

“If you’re coming out of hiding,” he said, “meeting with your former teammates and such…perhaps you could do something about _this_?”

Of course. The blonde offended him. How could she forget? Snorting, she slapped his hand away.

“I’ll take it into consideration.” She lifted herself to standing. “But in the meantime…let’s try this again. Where’s the Tesseract?”

**Author's Note:**

> This definitely isn't where I envisioned the series going when I posted the last fic, but...keep your hands and arms inside the ride because I guess we're going there? I blame all the damn Infinity War promos and my increasing anxiety.
> 
> Also, I should have mentioned it before, but I'm pretending the mid-credits scene from Ragnarok didn't happen. Both in this series and in my personal life as well.


End file.
